Matt Rutherford: Ghost Writer
by Choice
Summary: "Before glee, I was just another football player." How glee club gave Matt a voice.


**Matt Rutherford: Ghost Writer

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Behold: what has to be my _first_ general!fic in... possibly forever. Ahaha. Written for a prompt over at the _glee_fluff_meme_, I really felt out of my comfort zone with this one.I hope you like it nonetheless.

Enjoy!

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Before glee, Matt had been just another football player. He'd been fine with blending in with the background as his other jock friends took the limelight. He never really bothered with bullying… Then again, he never tried to put a stop to it, either.

Before glee, Matt had been a decent person. And now? After being forced to interact with people outside of his usual clique (his usual clique that had all but turned their backs on him), Matt felt compelled to make a change. Maybe it was all that inspirational fodder Schuester spewed at any given chance. Maybe it was seeing with his own two eyes-a bystander, but not a total no one-that Kurt could cry like any other normal human being; that Mercedes "fat chick" Jones had more self-confidence than most of McKinley combined; that Puck could _care_, honestly care about someone other than himself; that being a part of glee club was something he actually _liked_, let alone found himself, the antisocial stony-faced football jock, wanting.

He always had Mike by his side, compadres before Matt's twin sister died and he changed, and that had been enough to keep him going. He'd had a true enough friendship with both Finn and Puck. But being a gleek, smiling amongst a handicapped AV club nerd, two divas, a deceptively stuttering goth-punk Asian and Rachel Berry (Matt could never find the exact words to justly describe her) along with his fellow jocks and Cheerios… the sense of belonging and rightness was in a league of its own.

While glee was a definite milestone in Matt's short life, it hadn't really made him open up any more than usual. He preferred to be Mike's shadow, anyway. Sometimes, if he felt amicable enough, he'd talk to Tina about writing and poetry… but only sometimes. Talking was a rarity for him, and because he'd spent a good chunk of his life not saying much at all, he rambled, his words jumbling together into something barely decipherable.

The fact that Tina had spent most of her school days stuttering-faked or not-was a small comfort, and it made Matt feel slightly more collected. His lips weren't disconnected from his brain all that often when he was talking Nerudo and Poe with the "Asian Vampire." (Tina's playful _nom de plume_.)

He'd been a certified mute for the majority of his life, relying on others to speak for him (he and Mike were practically telepathic) or being accepting when he never said his piece. Sure, he hardly opened his mouth. Maybe that was why he always had a lot he wanted to say.

It was why writing was such an incremental godsend in middle school, when he took to writing stories in which Lidia never ran in front of the traffic to chase down the ice cream truck, where his parents hadn't divorced and Matt could fly.

He hadn't been depressed, per se, but he was a dreamer and, ironically, good with words. (At least, when it was written.) He showed his stories to people online, connecting with others on websites where he posted original fiction and, after learning about sonnets and iambic pentameter in English, poetry. Sometimes, he'd show Mike pieces he was especially proud of, and now, Tina.

When he found himself writing a supportive, heartfelt bit of prose poetry for Kurt when he was trying to be someone he wasn't-_"Mellencamp was a flavor not meant for your sharp tongue"_-Matt was handed an inadvertent epiphany. He could _give_ what he'd written for Kurt, _to _Kurt.

Matt wasn't extroverted enough to boldly march up to Kurt's chair and hand him the poem, signed "To Kurt, From Matt-be yourself because no one else can!" but he figured out the next best thing.

When he caught tears dripping down Kurt's face during lunch from across the cafeteria (he still sat with some of the "populars" from time to time, because Mike still had friends in the separate cliques and Matt felt better around Mike), he was swept up in a rush of euphoria. Several of the jocks snickered when Dave made an offhand remark that Kurt probably lost his guyliner and Tina shot him a knowing glance, but Matt ignored them all.

He had to practically beg Tina not to spill. The girl didn't understand why he didn't want Kurt to know, because it had made Kurt's day to hear that he was beautiful inside and out, and "_Your Armani shouldn't define you, but flannels and plaids are extraterrestrial against your frame."_ But at least she (reluctantly) respected his wishes, as a fellow writer.

Matt was careful not to have a repeat of that event, which was why, whenever he felt like he wanted to make a change for someone-even if he didn't know who that someone was, he took to slipping bits of notebook paper into library books, popping rolled-up Post-Its into the grills of random lockers on random days.

He put "_Singing makes everyone feel better. (:_" by a water fountain and later on that day, Quinn argued with Schue and Mercedes for a solo in glee. When he left "_Smile like you mean it!_" in a particularly weathered locker, he watched as a mousy-looking ghost of a girl opened it up, first looking shocked and glancing around herself in paranoia, before allowing herself a tiny smile. He even saw an origami heart-the one he'd made out of a napkin and left in a Physics textbook in the lost and found-pinned to the lapel of Miss Pillsbury's sweater one Tuesday morning.

It was a brilliant feeling, to make a difference without being recognized for his good deeds. By doing small acts of kindness, like telling a stranger they're beautiful, to look for the silver lining, to remember to say "I love you," Matt felt more outspoken than he'd ever been in his entire life.

He felt totally anonymous, like a whisper in the wind or an unseen hug, and he really should have looked past his confidence that he'd never be pinned down as the kindly culprit.

Mike knew him better than anyone else, after all.

Matt looked from the unfurled paper heart to Mike, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I found it in the locker room today-you make your f's just like this, so I knew it was from you," Mike said. He looked uncomfortable, painfully so. "But, um. Why did you tell me I'm _beautiful?_"

For once, Matt found himself floundering in front of his best friend. "I-it's not like th… I don't-"

Mike laughed at him, not unkindly. "Look, it's cool, man. I just…" He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the "_You're a beautiful person!_" note that was cradled in the palm of his other hand. "I wanted you to know it really made my day."

He gaped at Mike for what had to be a solid eternity, before a grin slowly formed on his face. "Well then, you're welcome." He bumped his shoulder against Mike's, light enough to barely jostle his beet-red counterpart.

"What's up with you, Mike?" Mercedes laughed, inadvertently drawing the attention of gleeks perched in plastic chairs nearby. "You look like a tomato!"

He shared a secret smile with Tina as Mike scrounged for a comeback, reveling in the feeling of being a part of something bigger than himself.


End file.
